Subverting Justice

by Don Easton

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The following week, although uneventful, was tense for Jack and Laura as they waited for Pure E to return. Rose thought they were still trying to find out where Satans Wrath were disposing of bodies. Jack had decided not to tell her they’d already found it. She was receptive to a lot of things he did while working in what he called the grey zone, but his plan went well beyond that.

  Friday arrived and Jack was driving Laura home after work. She’d been unusually quiet all day, and when he stopped at a light, all she did was stare out the window in silence. “You okay?” he asked.

  “I want this to be over.” Her tone revealed her anxiety.

  “Our friend told me that Pure E is still flying back Monday. If he follows his usual pattern, he and Whiskey Jake will go out clubbing by the weekend. It’ll be over soon.”

  Laura nodded. “We also have one hundred and twenty kilos of coke sitting in the locker. Monday is December 1. Are you going to pay the storage fees for another month?”

  “No, I’m going to pack it in my garage tomorrow.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “No, I can handle it. Then on Monday we’ll take the coke and make it look like — hang on, phone.” The call display said the number was blocked. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Jack. Stuart Wilson calling.”

  “Hey, Stuart.” He looked at Laura and said softly, “It’s the Vancouver Police Department’s top detective homicide investigator.”

  “Hey, compared to you Mounties, we’re all top detectives over here,” Wilson said.

  “You didn’t hear me right. I said ‘defective,’ not ‘detective.’”

  Wilson chuckled.

  “Don’t you know it’s Friday? Laura and I are on our way home.”

  “For olive soup, no doubt,” Wilson said.

  “Might do that if you’re calling to tell me some bad guy is dead.”

  Wilson’s tone became serious. “It’s Tamas Dubashi. He’s dead. Early this afternoon someone bashed him repeatedly in the temple with a blunt object, possibly the butt of a handgun.”

  “Tamas Dubashi?” Jack exchanged a puzzled look with Laura. “Sorry, neither Laura nor I knows him.”

  “You don’t?” Wilson sounded surprised. “He was calling you on the phone when he was murdered.”

  “I didn’t get any calls.”

  “That’s because he only managed to enter the first eight numbers. He was killed before entering the last two.”

  “Maybe a coincidence.”

  “No, there’s more.” Wilson paused. “You do trust me enough that you’d tell me if he was your confidential informant or something, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, you know I trust you. He’s not my CI. Where’d it take place? You said there was more.”

  “His body was found behind a concession stand in Stanley Park and —”

  “Stanley Park!”

  “Yes … and your business card was shoved down his throat.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jack and Laura sat around Wilson’s desk as Jack explained that he’d dressed as a homeless person to conduct surveillance and that Tamas Dubashi had given him coffee.

  “And you knew him only as Tom,” Wilson noted.

  Jack nodded. “He seemed like a really good guy. When he found out who I really was, he offered to keep an eye open and let me know if our targets showed up. That’s when I gave him my business card.”

  “You said on the phone you might have a lead.”

  “On Friday, October 31, I saw two guys meet with him. Both looked like FPSers. One of them phoned as they approached the concession stand and Tom met him outside and gave them money.”

  “You saw that?” Wilson asked.

  “I saw an envelope and spoke to Tom about it the next day. He told me his son recently went to jail for selling cocaine and that the two goons collected five hundred dollars from him for his son.”

  “A drug debt his son owed before going to jail perhaps,” Wilson said.

  Jack sighed. “At the time I thought that, but not now. Why would anyone kill Tom because of his son’s drug debt? The son’s in jail. It’s unlikely he’d be in a position to pay off the debt regardless.”

  “If not for a drug debt, then what?”

  “Christ, I should’ve talked to him about it more,” Jack lamented. “I even gave him a lecture.”

  “A lecture?” Wilson questioned.

  “I told him his son needed to learn to stand on his own two feet and that there comes a time when a person has to be responsible for what they do.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “Just said he was worried about his son, but I didn’t delve into the matter. Our targets showed up and I forgot all about it.” Jack clenched his fist in frustration. “Son-of-a-bitch, I should’ve spoken to him again.”

  “Would you be able to identify the two men again?” Wilson asked.

  “We can do even better. At first I was concerned that Tom was tipping off the people we were working on, so we followed them. Laura’s got some good pictures of them and has the plate number of the car they were driving.”

  “Right here,” said, Laura, thumbing through her cellphone. “Got a photo of the car, too. It’s registered to a Lorraine Dole. Record for theft and multiple convictions for drug possession. I’ll forward them to you.”

  Wilson received the photos and studied them briefly.

  “Next is another photo you’ll be interested in,” Laura said. “It’s of a list of twelve names they had tucked in the sun visor. It looks like Tom was sixth on the list.”

  Wilson looked at the photo. “Abbreviated … initials … check marks.” He eyed Jack. “What do you make of it?”

  “My guess is they’re running a protection racket. I bet if you identify the other names on the list you’ll find they have relatives or partners in jail.”

  Wilson nodded, then wrote down some information before gesturing to a colleague seated at the next desk. “Van Dusen, run this name ASAP. If she has any known associates, get me photos.”

  To comply with the request, Van Dusen had to leave the room. Wilson said, “Should only take him ten minutes. Hope you don’t mind waiting.”

  “Are you kidding? We’ll wait as long as you want.” Sons-of-bitches shoved my business card down his throat. Christ! He stared at Wilson. “Like I said, Tom was a good guy. He didn’t deserve this.”

  As they waited, Wilson cleared his throat. “I, uh, heard that the bikers left a message for you at that triple murder last month. Wrote it on the wall in blood.”

  Jack nodded.

  “Any chance this is another personal message for you?”

  “It’s personal to me.”

  “Could Satans Wrath be behind it?” Wilson prodded. “Maybe found out Tom was trying to help you?”

  “No, I’m positive Satans Wrath wasn’t behind it.” He glanced at Laura. “We’ve a good source. We’d know if that was the case.”

  Wilson nodded, then took a moment to make some notes before looking up again. “You said you followed the two guys,” he prompted.

  “After getting the money from Tom, they went to the Black Water Hotel bar. I saw them meet a hooker. Probably Lorraine Dole.”

  “The Black Water.” Wilson paused. “Man, what a hole that place is. You’re right, even the bikers don’t go in there anymore.”

  “The place did make my skin crawl,” Jack replied.

  “Literally, I bet,” Wilson replied.

  “Fortunately I didn’t stay inside long enough to pick up any little hitchhikers. Once Laura sent me the list of names, I figured they had nothing to do with what we were working on and left.”

  “And the next day you returned to the park, which is when Tom told you about the money?”

  “Yes, it
was the last time I spoke with him. Our targets showed up when he and I were chatting, so I left. Haven’t been back since.” Jack waited until Wilson finished writing. “You think the butt of a pistol was used to kill him?”

  “Looks like it. Whoever did it probably didn’t want to attract attention with the noise of a gunshot.”

  “I think the culprits are those two guys,” Jack said, “but there was another incident. It involved three punks. I don’t think they’d be capable of this, but I’ll tell you about it.”

  “Okay, shoot.” Wilson picked up his pen.

  Jack then told him about the three punks who’d tormented Tom by squirting ketchup on him and the altercation that followed.

  “I’ll check that out, as well,” Wilson said, “but from what you say, I tend to agree. If any of the three punks had had a gun, I suspect they’d have threatened you with it after you punched the one guy in the face.”

  “I’ve got something,” Van Dusen announced as he approached. “Dole’s frequently been seen in the company of a Lester Burnside. A real badass with a long violent record. Got photos and records on him and Dole, as well as another associate of Burnside’s.”

  Jack and Laura crowded around Wilson’s desk to view the photos.

  “That’s him,” Jack and Laura said in unison, both pointing to Burnside’s photo.

  “Yeah, that’s the one in your pictures who was driving the car and wearing the checkered jacket,” Wilson agreed.

  “The other guy I don’t recognize,” Jack said.

  “Nope,” Laura agreed. “The other guy definitely isn’t the guy with the ponytail.”

  Jack pointed to Dole’s photo. “She’s the woman they met in the Black Water.”

  Wilson glanced at Van Dusen. “Good going.” He stabbed at Burnside’s photo with his finger. “This could be our murderer or possibly an accomplice. Go back and keep checking. Get what you can on anyone ever associated with him.”

  When Van Dusen left, Jack, Laura, and Wilson looked at Burnside’s criminal record. It included numerous assaults, an armed robbery, break-and-enters, and stolen-property offences. He’d been on parole for the last six months after serving time in Kent Federal Prison, a maximum-security prison about an hour-and-a-half’s drive from Vancouver.

  “The asshole’s been around,” Wilson said. “I’ll scoop him up, but you can bet he won’t talk. Unless we get DNA or something.” He shook his head.

  Jack picked up a calendar. “The murder happened this afternoon,” he stated, “which is the last Friday of the month.”

  “Yeah,” Wilson concurred.

  “The day I saw Tom turn over the envelope was the last Friday of last month.”

  “Right.”

  “After which Burnside and Ponytail went to the Black Water — but there were other names on the list that weren’t checked off. My guess is the people who are on the second half of the list are collected from the next day.”

  “Meaning tomorrow these two assholes could show up to collect from the other names,” Wilson said. He checked the list. “And the next person in line is identified as ‘Wong — E. Cordova/Main 10:00 a.m.’”

  “East Cordova and Main Street,” Jack repeated. “Looks like someone doesn’t want the bad guys coming to their home or business.”

  “Either that, or the bad guys don’t want to be seen,” Laura suggested.

  “I’ll set up there tomorrow,” Wilson said. “If they show up I’ll grab them.”

  “Which, as you mentioned, may not get you the results you want,” Jack said.

  Wilson raised an eyebrow. “You have another idea?”

  “These guys made this personal for me. I’d like to reciprocate. How about I try a quick undercover scenario to see if I can get an admission?”

  “How the hell could you walk up to two guys one day after a murder without scaring them off?”

  “If I scare them off, it’s not like you’d lose anything. You plan to pick them up for interrogation regardless.”

  “Uh, Jack,” Laura cautioned, “are you forgetting about Mortimer?”

  “Mortimer?” Wilson questioned.

  “That asshole,” Jack said. “I’ll need to keep this secret.” He then told Wilson how he’d been ordered not to work undercover, have any informants, or do any police work involving direct contact with criminals.

  Wilson frowned. “Jack, I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  “Trouble? I never get into trouble. Besides, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  Wilson looked more concerned than amused. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay, but then I’ve another issue. Will you be packing and wearing a wire?”

  “Not for the first meeting. Like you said, with a cold approach they’re going to be nervous. I don’t want to risk being armed or wired in case they pat me down.”

  Wilson’s eyebrows knit together into a solid line. “The Black Water is only a couple blocks away. What if they take you back there? That place is a hellhole.”

  “I don’t see them chatting to me on a street corner for long. If it goes well, I expect that’s where we’ll go.”

  “I don’t know, Jack.” Wilson sounded apologetic. “I don’t have anyone who either isn’t known or could go into that dump to provide you protection without being spotted.”

  “No worries, Laura will provide cover for me. If she’s wired, she could relay to your team outside.”

  “No worries?” Wilson repeated, looking at Laura. “I wouldn’t sit in there unless I was inside a tank.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Laura replied. She looked at Jack. “Mind you, talking about the place making your skin crawl doesn’t exactly make me happy.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll buy you a flea collar,” Jack said.

  “Only if it has diamonds on it,” Laura replied.

  Jack smiled, then glanced at Wilson. “So? What do you think?”

  Wilson sighed, then said, “Okay, but there’s still Mortimer. If you do obtain an admission, in a year or two it will likely go to court. I can’t promise to keep your name out of the papers then.”

  “Don’t worry about Mortimer,” Jack said coldly. “He’ll be gone before then.”

  Chapter Forty

  Early the next morning Jack and Laura returned to Wilson’s office. Laura was wearing a woollen cap and a grubby three-quarter-length blue nylon raincoat. Her jeans were tattered and one of her running shoes had a broken lace that was retied partway up. “What’re you? Homeless or a junkie?” Wilson asked.

  “A little of both,” she replied.

  Wilson nodded his approval. “If you do end up in the Black Water, you’ll look right at home.”

  “Yup, nothing I like more than having beer for breakfast,” Laura responded. She glanced at Jack. “Or wheat smoothies, as you call them.”

  Wilson gestured to some photos on his desk. “Take a look. We found a match for the guy who was with Burnside when you photographed them.”

  Jack and Laura each confirmed it was the man with the ponytail.

  “His name is Archie Richards,” Wilson said. “He was in Kent Prison and his time overlapped with Burnside’s. He got out a couple months earlier and his record is even worse than Burnside’s.”

  “Hopefully the two of them will show up to collect from Wong this morning,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, about that.” Wilson shook his head. “I still don’t know how you plan on running this. I’ve got three guys coming in to assist. They’ll be in cars and parked within the vicinity. I’ll have the visual on you from a surveillance van and call the shots from there.”

  “That’ll do,” Jack replied. “Laura can hop in with you when I’m on the street. She knows how I work, so she can read the situation better. As far as how I’ll go about it, cold approaches tend to be fluid.
Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. We’ll have to play it by ear.”

  Wilson nodded. “What about the person they’re collecting from?”

  “Identify Wong for later if you can, but don’t pick anyone up until I’m done. There has to be someone feeding Burnside and Richards information from inside the prison. Tom’s son has only been in a couple of months, and Burnside and Richards were released before he got there. Even if I succeed this morning, it could still take time to identify all the players.”

  “Understood.” Wilson eyed Jack. “So?”

  “So?”

  “How do you do it?” Wilson asked. “First approach them, I mean?” He then jokingly added, “After Wong pays, are you going to walk up and say something like, ‘Hey, guys, nice day. By the way, didn’t I see the two of you murder some guy in the park yesterday?’”

  Jack pretended to think about it. “Yeah, that might work.”

  “You asshole,” Wilson muttered.

  An hour later Jack walked past the surveillance van parked near the intersection of East Cordova and Main Street. He was early, but was hoping Burnside and Richards might be early, too. If things went wrong, he preferred not to have this guy Wong caught in the middle. A light rain was falling so he opted for shelter in the doorway of a coffee shop on the corner.

  At 10:00 a.m. an older Chinese man arrived and waited on the corner across from him. Okay, as I told Wilson, sometimes these plans are fluid.

  Jack hustled across the street and approached. “You got the money?” he asked.

  The man reached in his pocket, handed Jack a wad of money, then walked away. What the hell? Why would you just give it to me, no questions asked? Don’t you at least want to know what happened to Burnside and Richards?

  Jack retreated back to the coffee shop entranceway and counted the money. Five hundred dollars. Twenty minutes later he spotted two men standing at the intersection and looking around. Neither was Burnside or Richards, but by their hardened faces, he figured they were no strangers to the inside of a prison.